Joan of Arc
by mossley
Summary: A piece of jewelry triggers a revealing conversation between Sara and Grissom


**Joan Of Arc  
Summary:** A piece of jewelry prompts a revealing conversation between Sara and Grissom.**  
A/N:** Contains spoilers for the first season episode "Too Tough To Die".**  
Rating:** PG-13 for mild language and content.  
**Disclaimer**: I have nothing to do with CSI.

* * *

Balancing a cardboard container of drinks in one hand, Gil Grissom nervously rechecked the address written on a scrap of paper. This would be the right place. Sighing heavily, he knocked on the door, pondering what type of hell he was about to enter. 

How did he get himself into this situation? Sara was going to kill him. Hopefully. Grissom quickly pushed that thought away. Sara would be fine; he was sure of it.

No one else thought so, though.

That made him nervous. He wasn't what Catherine called a "people person". Hell, he wasn't what anyone would call a "people person". Could he have completely misread the situation - again?

Who knew a simple phone message could lead to this much trouble?

* * *

"Guys, where's Sara?"

Grissom had heard Nick's question coming from the break room at the start of the previous night's shift. He smiled at the simple joy of being able to hear the conversation from the hallway as he left his office.

"Sara called in sick tonight," he said as he entered the room, shuffling through that night's assignments. "Nick, you and..."

"Sara! Sick!"

In spite of himself, Grissom grinned at the Greek chorus which greeted his statement.

"Yes, Sara. Tall. Brunette. It's a slow night. I think we can manage without her tonight." Okay, that came out harsher than he meant. Taking in the three hard looks directed his way, he gathered the rest of the team thought so, too. Shrugging, as if to say "Just joking", Grissom continued: "Nick, you and..."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know, Catherine. She didn't specify. Nick, you and..."

"Well, how did she sound?"

"I don't know, Catherine. She left a message with the receptionist saying that she was taking a sick day. Now, Nick, you and..."

"Something's wrong. Why wouldn't Sara leave a message directly with you?"

Grissom eyed his friend carefully. Even he could pick up the mild accusation in Catherine's tone. He hadn't done anything to make Sara mad. Well, nothing he could think of. They worked a case last week and everything seemed well. He knew he needed to repair their friendship and he was slowly trying to return to the ease they used to have. Grissom had even made a point of complementing her fingerprinting skills.

This week he, Nick and Catherine had been preoccupied with a high profile murder while Warrick and Sara covered the smaller cases. Besides a few chance meetings in the hallways, he had barely seen Sara in days.

"Yeah, man, Sara is never, and I mean never, sick. Well, sick enough to miss work," Nick said. "Has she been to the doctor's yet?"

"Nick, I don't know. Her message said, and only said, she would be taking a sick day. Now, you and..."

"Man, did you guys noticed how ragged Sara's been the last few days? I never thought she was sick, though," added Warrick, feeling guilty about the teasing he had given her over her appearance.

"Sara's sick? Is she going to be okay?"

Grissom jumped at Greg's emotional outburst as he entered the break room. He was already on edge when he saw the others nodding at Warrick's question. He hadn't noticed anything wrong. He hadn't seen her enough to notice. Which was odd, because Sara usually made a point of stopping by to at least say goodbye before she left at the end of shift. Had she been avoiding him?

"Greg, Sara just took a night off! Why are you acting like she's on her death bed?" Grissom nearly growled the question. He winced mentally when the lab tech jumped. He hadn't meant to scare him. Everyone was overreacting; it was making him nervous.

"This is Sara! She's never taken a sick day. Remember last winter? The flu bug that took out half the lab? Sara got hit as hard as anyone and she never missed a day. Even maxed out on overtime by the middle of the month. She probably covered for half of the guys on day shift at some point. Anyone who knew Sara would be concerned," Greg said, trying not to stammer, his concern for Sara barely overcoming his fear of Grissom.

Sara had been that sick last winter? He hadn't noticed. Or hadn't cared, his conscience stated. Grissom added this to his ever growing list of things he realized he needed to apologize for.

Running his hands through his hair, Grissom tried to calm himself down. Everyone got sick, even Sara. The others were just overreacting. Weren't they? They were her friends; they cared for her. Of course, they would be nervous. Shouldn't he be frantic then?

"Guys, everyone just calm down. I'm sure if it was serious, Sara would have let us know. Now, if I promise to check up on her, can we pretend I'm still the boss and you all want to remain gainfully employed? Good. Nick, you and...," he paused, giving his team a warning glare, "Warrick have a DB at Lake Mead. Brass is already there and probably wondering where you are. Catherine, trick roll at the Rough Diamond Motel. When you're done, check with the kids and see if they need help. Greg, if you haven't finished the samples from the Massotti case, clear those first. The mayor wants it to have top priority. Go, now, all of you!"

After shooing his team out of the break room, Grissom headed to the Trace Lab, his thoughts in a jumble. Work would straighten him out.

* * *

"How's Sara?"

Grissom looked up from his microscope when Catherine entered the lab hours later. He gave her a quizzical look.

"You never checked up on her, did you? I knew it," she said.

Standing up completely, Grissom's look morphed into full confusion.

"Catherine, did you expect me to wake her up in the middle of the night? We both know she doesn't sleep well. If she's sick, the last thing she needs is one of us disturbing her. Besides, you know how grumpy she gets when she has to get up to answer the phone when she's in a good mood," Grissom said smiling.

"Uh, huh," was her only response before turning around and heading down the hall.

Was she mad? Because he had been considerate?

"Don't bother guys. He never called her," came Catherine's disembodied body from the hallway. Mad, definitely mad. Judging from Nick and Warrick's reactions, so were they. Well, they'd understand his reasoning. Walking down the hallway, Grissom once again overheard the conversation as he approached the break room. It wasn't as pleasant the second time around.

"...puts up with it. I thought they were 'friends'," came Nick's voice. Grissom stopped. The anger in Nick's tone and the sarcastic inflection on 'friends' had come through clearly.

"Yeah, Cath, what's the deal?"

"I don't know Warrick. Grissom is my friend, but the way he gets so, so ...Grissomesque... around her makes me want to belt him sometimes."

Grissom sighed, looking at his watch. Shift was nearly over. Sara was probably asleep, though. He needed to revisit the Massotti crime scene. It was on the opposite side of the city from Sara's apartment. Sara wouldn't appreciate him waking her up. What would she do if he showed up at her door this early? Could it be any worse than what the rest of the team sounded like they were preparing to do to him?

* * *

Listening carefully, Grissom tried to detect any signs of movement coming from the other side of the apartment door. He hoped this was the right place. In all the years Sara had lived in Las Vegas, he'd never visited her. He really hadn't been much of a friend. Maybe she'd consider this a peace offering. Hopefully. Knocking again, he heard slow, shuffling footsteps approaching.

Grissom decided Sara was going to kill him. She was young, strong, healthy. She wasn't working on any pressing cases. There was no reason for her not to take the night off. She was fine. He had nearly convinced himself when the door opened.

"My god, Sara, are you okay?"

"Griss. Hi. I'm fine. What do you need?"

He started to apologize for waking her, but it was obvious she hadn't slept in some time. Sara was dressed in a black linen suit and white silk blouse - very dressy by her standards - but the clothes were rumpled. She'd clearly been wearing them for some time. Her skin was paler than usual. The rings under her eyes were so dark he seriously wondered if she had been hit. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She seemed to be shaking slightly. Her voice was raw and very weak.

As shocking as her appearance was, it was her manner that frightened Grissom. Even though she was looking in his direction, her eyes were unfocused and blank. He tried to process that the person in front of him was the headstrong, feisty CSI he valued so much. That Sara was strong, alive; nothing like this broken version standing in front of him.

Shaking himself, Grissom held up the container of drinks and collection of plastic bags in his hands. "I was worried about you...the whole lab is... I brought you some breakfast," he said gently.

"Oh. Thanks. You didn't have to. I'm fine." The words were cold and emotionless.

"Sara, honey, no you're not. Can I come in? Please, Sara," he said.

"Okay."

Grissom stepped into the apartment, quickly scanned the room and headed for the breakfast bar. He watched her as he began unloading his bags. Sara was just staring. Not at him, not at anything in particular. She never reacted to his contradiction of her condition, calling her 'honey'. She hadn't reacted to anything. God, something was wrong. Grissom wondered how to handle the situation.

"I brought an omelet and some waffles," he said brightly, showing each container as he lifted it out of the bag. No reaction. "They'll probably need to be nuked. And I got some fruit." There was still no reaction to his one-sided show-and-tell. "And some other stuff. I wasn't sure what you'd feel like having," his voice trailing off. Sara was still standing in the same location. Maybe she had been hit. Did she have a head injury?

Walking over to Sara, he touched her elbow. "Want to start with some coffee?"

"Okay." He barely heard her voice and he had been standing just a few feet from her. God, should he call Catherine? Taking a chance, Grissom gently grasped her elbow and turned her to face him. She quickly looked down to avoid his face. Okay, at least it was a reaction.

"What happened, Sara?"

"A ... friend died. The funeral was yesterday. I'm kinda upset," she finally said. She took a deep breath, and seemed to come alive, but kept her eyes focused on her hands. Grissom followed her gaze down and noticed she was turning a silver locket over and over in her hands. Looking closer, he saw it wasn't a locket after all. Reaching down, he grasped her hands in his and turned the object over. Her hands were cold.

"St. Catherine of Alexandria," his mind supplied the identification of the religious medal.

"Yeah. It was left to me," she said, softly.

He jerked slightly when his mind made the next connection. His movement startled Sara, who tried to pull back. Okay, not a good reaction, but still better than none at all.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Pamela Adler?"

Sara turned startled eyes up at him. For the first time since he arrived they showed some emotion. "Yeah. Tom, her husband, gave this to me." Sara indicated the necklace. "How, how did you know?"

"Educated guess. I remember how much that case bothered you. And I overheard you talking to her about that," he said nodding towards the medal in their still-clasped hands.

A strange mix of emotions played through Sara's eyes. Grissom wasn't sure what they finally settled on. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. The look she gave him seemed almost accusatory. Suddenly, she pulled away from him, pocketing the medal as she headed towards the kitchen.

"God, Grissom! How much do you think I eat?" She pointed towards the loaded-down breakfast bar.

He blinked at the sudden change of conversation. He wondered if he should leave. Sara clearly wanted to change the subject. He thought she was upset he was here. Still, she hadn't asked him to leave. He decided to go with the flow.

"Like I said, I wasn't sure what you'd want to eat. I thought you wouldn't feel like cooking later," he said, allowing a full grin in response to her smile - small and fleeting as it was. "I figured you could save the rest for later."

"Thanks. I hope my fridge can hold all this," she said, moving to the opposite side of the breakfast bar. She seemed scared; a defensive gesture?

Grissom stayed on the other side of the bar, and handed her a cup of coffee, then slid a cup of orange juice towards her as well. She was scared, but hadn't asked him to leave. What was wrong?

"Well, besides the omelets, waffles and fruit, there's some oatmeal, muffins and yogurt. You do eat dairy, right? I mean, you use cream in your coffee. I can eat that if you don't want it," he said quickly, hoping he hadn't offended her. Ever since the incident with the hamburger, food and Sara had become an intimidating combination.

"Dairy's fine, Griss. Really, you didn't have to go to this trouble," she said.

"It wasn't any trouble," he said. Well, none that he'd admit to now. That unreadable look had come back into her eyes. It worried him; he wanted to know what it meant. It scared him; he didn't want to know where it came from. Maybe he should leave. Even he could recognize the cool tone in her voice. She didn't really want him here now.

His reflection was interrupted by his pager. Reading the message, Grissom began to worry Catherine could read his mind. "We want to talk to you." Scientifically, he knew no emotion could follow the message, but he could feel the coldness behind it. He should have told someone he was coming here. Before Catherine had interrupted him in the lab, he had told Archie he was going back to the crime scene. They thought he was heartless. Well, considering his past behavior, those weren't unjustified thoughts.

Sara needed help, but he didn't know what to do. It wasn't that he didn't care. He did. Grissom just had no idea how to help. He wasn't sure Sara trusted him enough any more to even accept his help. He sighed deeply.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. It was just a message from Catherine."

"You don't have to stay. You can go Grissom, if there's some bugs that need you," she said. Did she sound upset?

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Why are you here?" Definitely upset.

"Because I was worried about you."

"Okay, you know I'm still breathing. You don't have to hang around."

"I'm still worried, Sara. I know how much this case got to you. I..."

"Shut up, Grissom! Just shut up! I can't believe you! I cared about her, Grissom, and I just watched them put her in the ground. I don't need one of your damn lectures about detachment right now. I'm sorry if that disappoints you. Nothing I do anymore seems to met your approval, so you'll have to excuse me if don't even feel like trying right now," Sara yelled. Seeing the obvious pain she'd inflicted, she stopped her rant and walked to the sink.

"Look, Griss, thanks for stopping by. But I'm not good company right now. I really don't think I want to talk to you about ... this," she said, trying not to cry.

Despite the pain her comments caused him, Grissom knew it was important she get whatever was bothering her out of her system. This reaction was better than her withdrawing again. If he needed to be her punching bag, then he'd endure her jabs. He deserved them. He moved up silently behind her.

"Why?"

Sara jumped when his warm breathe hit her neck and let out a small scream. Turning quickly around, she leaned away from him, the fear clear in her eyes. Grissom quickly backed up, holding out his hands.

"Sorry, Sara. Why?" he repeated the question. A sick feeling was settling in his stomach. She was more than upset; she was frightened. What, besides wasps, could scare Sara?

The fear was quickly replaced by anger. "Why! You ask me why after I just told you..."

"No, Sara, no. Why did this case bother you so much? What made her special? It meant so much to you, and I'm just trying to understand why. I'm not here to lecture you," he said, pain obvious in his voice. For the first time, he wondered if he had damaged their relationship to the point it couldn't be salvaged. She actually thought so little of him that she thought he was going to lecture her. All he wanted to do was help, but he didn't know how. He started to move towards her, but stopped when he saw her tense.

"Griss, please, I know I don't want to talk to you about that," she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Why?" Grissom blinked when he asked the question again. It seemed his subconscious was forcing the question out, trying to make him aware of something. He reached out to touch her arm. She jumped again and looked at him with a mix of fear, shame and anger. Grissom pulled back as if he had been shocked.

For her part, Sara barreled past him, and yelled back his own mantra. "What does the damn evidence tell you, Grissom?"

He just stood still as she left the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door shut. The evidence? What evidence? Pamela Adler. Young woman, raped, shot in the head, left for dead on a roadside. Was in a vegetative state for more than three years. Case really bothered Sara. Well, so did the Strip Strangler case. All rape or abuse cases, actually.

God.

Sara was trained in various forms of weaponless defense. She worked out, with a strength belying her thin frame. Sara never slept. She kept people at a distance. She didn't form relationships easily. Sara worked with an energy that seemed based on rage.

God.

Grissom stayed still as his mind finally recognized the facts his subconscious had noticed for years. What was the proper way to handle this situation? Sighing, he began cleaning up the cup of coffee Sara spilled on her way out of the kitchen and then began moving containers of food into her refrigerator.

When Sara emerged a few minutes later, she headed towards the kitchen, but stopped when she saw Grissom leaning against the bar, sipping what was left of his coffee. After a few minutes silence, Sara realized Grissom was examining her like a crime scene. "What?"

In fact, Grissom had hoped to get a clue on how to proceed from her body language. His mind just wouldn't move past the fact she'd changed into her nightclothes. Sara always looked good in black and red; the colors complimented her complexion. But this outfit was...wow. The heavy red and black plaid flannel pajamas with frayed hems did nothing to accentuate any type of feature. A thick robe overtop was a faded blue that may have been terry cloth in a previous life. The ensemble was completed by a pair of bunny slippers in the last stages of mange.

Clearly embarrassed at being caught in his examination, Grissom blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "I, uh, I, uh, just always imagined you in silk pajamas."

God. What did he just say? She just admitted that she'd been, well, actually she hadn't admitted to anything. Well, something had happened to her and he talked about his sexual fantasies. Grissom hoped her gun wasn't within reach; he'd like a chance to apologize before she killed him.

"When did you ever imagine...No, no, no, never mind," she said, holding up her hand and shaking her head. She finally settled in the far corner of her couch. After a few minutes of silence, she looked up to see Grissom clearly embarrassed. Finally, she broke the silence. "It's cold. These are the warmest things I have," she said in a tone clearly indicating further comments on her attire would not be welcome.

"Oh, uh, do you want me to make some coffee? I put the food away, I could get something..."

"No, thanks."

"Sara, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, or force you to..."

"Griss, you don't have to apologize. You should have left; I warned you I wasn't good company," she said.

Grissom watched her carefully, trying to figure out what to do next. She wasn't crying, but the tears seemed close. He wanted to hug her, but was afraid to make a physical move. He guessed Pamela Adler's death caused her to relive whatever had happened to her. Her posture was still defensive, but there was a look of, of something in her eyes. Need? Did she need him to leave or get closer? To forget this or help her through it? She said he should have left, but never asked him to leave. She still hadn't.

If Sara was angry with him, she would demand he leave.

If Sara needed help, she would never ask for it.

She was hurt. He had also hurt her, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. He was the last person who should be around an emotionally damaged person; he'd cause more harm than good.

His pager broke his train of thought. Another message from Catherine. "We know where you live." Did she put a wire on him?

"Grissom, just go if you have to. I'll be fine," she said, a trace of resignation in her voice.

Grissom watched her. She was shivering. She hadn't killed him. She said she was cold. He was still breathing. Maybe he could help. Moving over to the couch, he lifted the throw off of the back. He slid near her, wrapping it around her shoulders. She gave him a small smile of thanks, but leaned back away from him. He could get close, but not too close.

He watched as she slid her hand into her robe pocket and removed the medal again. She ran the chain through her fingers before rubbing her thumb over the medal. It seemed to give her some comfort. Grissom knew he should talk to her before she withdrew back into herself. He didn't think either of them were ready to talk about what had happened to her.

Eventually he reached out and touched the medal in her hands, allowing a brief contact between their fingers. She stopped her motion, but didn't pull away. Okay, good so far.

"Did you know Catherine was one of the major saints in the early church? She had numerous churches and cathedrals dedicated to her throughout Europe and Africa, then later in Asia and the Americas. There are whole works of poetry and music dedicated to her," he said, watching Sara's face. She seemed content to listen. He tried to remember what else he knew about St. Catherine.

"Joan of Arc claimed it was Catherine who delivered God's messages to her."

"Margaret," came a soft reply from the corner of the sofa. Grissom raised an eyebrow in a silent question. "Margaret of Antioch. Another saint who visited Joan. And Michael - the archangel. I always related better to Margaret."

Grissom desperately tried to recall anything he had ever learned about Margaret. The information his brain was supplying didn't seem appropriate.

"Swallowed by a dragon, survived and burst through its stomach?" Did that sound as dumb as he thought it did?

"No, well, yeah, that's her story. But she was disowned by her family for choosing a different way of life. Her father was a pagan priest. They never forgave her for converting," she said. The small shrug she gave couldn't negate the pain in her voice.

Grissom gave her hand a quick squeeze without thinking about it. She didn't mind. He knew she wasn't close to her family, but never suspected how deep the rift was.

"Well, Margaret was apocryphal. It was Catherine who was Joan's inspiration," he said, taking a firm grip on her hand. She didn't pull away, but didn't return the gesture, either.

"Joan was afraid. She tried to deny the voices, but eventually it was Catherine who convinced her that it was God's will that she save France. It took time, but people began to believe Joan. The Dauphin, Charles, had her tested over and over again. Joan wondered if she, just a simple girl, could do this great task, but St. Catherine reassured her. Joan persevered. When Charles finally agreed to give her an army, he tried to give her a sword. She refused, claiming the sword meant for her would be found buried behind the altar at the church of St. Catherine in Fierbois. The sword would have five crosses engraved on the blade. Men were sent to search, and they found the sword right were Joan said it would be."

Grissom paused and tried to gauge Sara's reaction to his narrative. He honestly had no idea why he was going on about this. She apparently was familiar with the story. Sara had opened up about her family. Should he allow her to control the conversation? She hadn't volunteered any additional information, though. Should he follow her lead or press? Well, they could always come back to it. St. Catherine had been an inspiration for Joan, who had become an inspiration for millions. Maybe the story could cheer Sara up.

"St. Catherine led Joan, who became the epicenter of the battle against the British. The troops followed her without hesitation. If not for her, Charles would never had been crowned king. Her legend spread across France and lasted for generations. Even the British came to admire her in time. Some of the great poems about her are British. Joan is still admired throughout the world today," he finished.

Sara rolled her eyes, pulling her hands from Grissom. "Nineteen, Griss. She was only nineteen. Nineteen when she was burned at the stake. She should have been innocent at that age, but instead she had a short life of violence, was imprisoned and abandoned and then suffered through an inquisition."

Grissom didn't know what to say. He started to ask how old she had been when ...it... had happened, but decided that wasn't a safe topic right now. This conversation hadn't gone as he hoped.

"Well, she changed history. Without her, Charles would never had become king," he ventured.

"Yeah, she devoted her life to a man who didn't give a damn about her," she said, softly. Was this another personal admission? Is that what she thought? Damn. "He ignored her for the longest time, considering her a foolish youth, then used her when it suited him. Then he chose to believe the rumors started by those in the court who opposed her." Damn.

"Charles got what he needed from Joan then just turned his back on her. He never once tried to rescue her, to ransom her or tried a prisoner exchange. He got what he wanted and abandoned her. She gave everything to Charles. She abandoned her home, her family, her previous life to serve him. And for what? To burn. Great story, Grissom," Sara said, jumping off the couch to move towards the breakfast bar.

This definitely hadn't gone as Grissom had hoped. The pain in Sara's voice was too noticeable. Damn. Even now it looked like Sara was using all her strength not to cry. How many times had he done this to her before? Damn.

Why did he always make things worse?

"Charles wasn't a good leader," Grissom finally said. His voice was soft, but filled with sorrow. He wished he could make things right. He couldn't bear to see Sara in pain, so he kept his eyes focused on his cold cup of coffee. "He ignored problems, rather than dealing with them. He hoped problems would go away, or someone else would fix them. People were put into a position where they were forced to follow him, they didn't choose him. There were plenty who would have been glad to see him fail.

"He probably wasn't even a good man. You're right, Sara. He used Joan. He listened to the wrong people. He was given a set of problems by birth he didn't know how to handle. Maybe he was just weak or scared. Or too stupid to know what to do. Or he was just an unemotional bastard who didn't see the damage he caused," Grissom said with a humorless chuckle.

"Charles had plenty of flaws, Sara. More than his share. But anything noble he attained, any good he accomplished, it was because of Joan. Without her, his life was meaningless. It was just time spent. He may have been king of France, but Joan was the soul.

"And he destroyed her. Joan deserved so much more," Grissom said. It was his turn to jump when Sara ran her hand down his arm. She sat in front of him on the coffee table, and took one of his hands between hers. The tears which had threatened all morning were flowing freely now.

"Hey, it was God's will, remember? Destiny, and all that," she said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"No, Sara, I "

"Shhh. Joan chose that life Grissom. Remember that: it was her choice. She could have refused to come to his aid in the first place. And she could have left at any time. After Charles was crowned at Riems, Joan started to leave, but in the end she decided to stay with him.

"Even after she was captured and turned over to the British, Joan could have renounced her actions, but she remained loyal. It wasn't easy, though. She was alone, isolated from all those she cared about. She waivered, but only once. Joan had been imprisoned for months, she was scared and lonely and needed hope. Charles had made no move to help her. She renounced her mission, claiming God hadn't directed her to put Charles on the throne, but she knew it was lie.

"Joan knew she couldn't get a second reprieve. The minute her loyalty to Charles returned, she knew she would burn. But she chose to do so. Joan went to the stake willingly, claiming her actions right," Sara said gently. "It was her life, Grissom, she chose how she wanted to live it."

"Was it worth it? Wouldn't she had been happier if she never gotten involved with him? If she had left before she was destroyed? Sara, she paid too high a price," Grissom said, reaching over to wipe the tears from her face.

"You said everything noble about Charles was due to Joan; imagine what would have happened if he had let her into his life, if he had trusted her, hadn't listened to others," she said firmly.

"Life's too fragile, Griss, too short. You only pass through this world once. You have to be willing to get burnt or you're not really living life. You're just wasting the time you have. I'd rather take the chance with the flames than missing life, Griss. I want that life. It's my choice," she said, standing up and pocketing the necklace.

Grissom allowed her to pull him up as he tried to process what had just happened. Hadn't Sara just admitted to the pain he had caused? And she wanted him? Had he lost track of the conversation somewhere? After all he had done, and hadn't done, she still cared? He wanted in her life, but was afraid of hurting her more.

A knocking at Sara's door saved him from having to make an immediate decision. Pulling the throw tighter around her shoulders, Sara walked to the door, wiping at her tears. She opened the door to reveal a very concerned Catherine.

Without waiting for an invitation, the older woman walked in and pulled Sara into a hug. "You okay, sweetie?" She glared at Grissom from over Sara's shoulder.

"Yeah, Cath. I'm okay. Hey guys, come on in," she called to Greg and Nick, who were still standing in the hallway.

The second Catherine released her, Nick swept her into a one-armed hug. "You sure, Sar? 'Cause Doc Robbins has had customers that look better than you do," he asked cautiously.

"Thanks, Nick, you really know how to cheer a girl up," she sniffed, trying not to tense in his hug.

"At least you don't have a fever. I guess you're not contagious," he teased.

"If you squeeze any harder, I'm sure I could vomit on you," she teased back, hoping he'd get the hint to break contact.

"Move out of the way, cretin," Greg said, pushing Nick away from Sara, then pulling her into a bear hug. "Sara, you'll be the most beautiful corpse ever to grace our morgue."

That managed an actual small laugh from Sara. "Gee, Greg, with lines like that, I don't see how any girl could resist you."

"Ah, my dearest, lines are only some of the tools in my arsenal. Actions speak louder than words and I can act. We brought you breakfast," Greg let her go, spun around to grab a bag Nick was carrying. Sara quickly stepped away. Spinning back around Greg paused when he saw her discomfort. He wondered what was going on. Lifting out a bag of his signature Blue Hawaiian coffee and a box of donuts, he joked, "Caffeine and sugar! The two Sidle food groups!"

"Plus milk and juice," the only parent in the group held up the bag she carried.

"Warrick had a court date this morning, but he's going to stop in later with lunch," Nick added.

Sara turned nervously to Grissom. He'd yet to react to her earlier statements. She loved her friends dearly and was touched by their concern, but right now she decided their timing sucked. She was a nervous wreck; she'd never meant to reveal to Grissom how much he had hurt her. She had hoped to resolve, one way or another, this situation with Grissom. Right now she didn't know if she had convinced him to open to her or had finally ruined what was left of their friendship. She'd rather find out without an audience. She decided to play it safe for now.

"Griss, did you start this?" she asked.

"Uh, no. I had no idea they were planning on coming over," Grissom replied. He'd yet to move from the couch.

Catherine and Nick exchanged glances. It was obvious Sara had been crying before they got here and she was still nervous. They had an idea who was responsible.

"Why do you think Grissom had anything to do with this?" Catherine tried to keep her voice neutral.

"Yeah, Sara, you know impromptu parties are our forte," Greg added.

Sara caught the undertone in his voice, turned and noticed the looks her friends were giving Grissom. Damn. They would have noticed she had been crying. They were blaming him. The last thing she needed now was Grissom to feel he was under attack.

"Well, if this is a party, then get to work on the drinks, Greg. The coffee machine is over there," she nodded in the direction of the far kitchen counter, walking to the fridge.

"This is why I asked Catherine," she called out as she began piling food on the breakfast bar.

"You brought that?" a surprised Catherine asked Grissom.

"Yes, I brought a healthy breakfast selection suitable for a vegetarian," he replied, moving to help Sara. Grissom realized Sara had noticed the emotional undercurrent. "They don't think I cared that you were sick," he added as an explanation. She cocked her head, wanting more information. "I didn't call from work to check on you."

"In the middle of the night? Who would call a sick person in the middle of the night?"

"My thoughts, exactly. I think Catherine just wants my job," he replied. "She hoped you'd kill me for getting you up and she would get promoted."

That got a brief smile from Sara and a polite response from the others. Okay, maybe Grissom had been right about not calling her, Catherine thought.

"Hey, Sara, you sit down and we'll take of this," Nick called.

"Thanks, Nicky, but I've been down too long. Besides, the coffee'll be cold before you figure out where I keep stuff. You guys go ahead and sit down," she said, pointing towards the barstools. Nick exchanged a glance with Catherine. Something was up; Sara was keeping distance between them and Grissom was acting almost protectively. Catherine shrugged and moved to sit down.

Within a few minutes, the coffee was poured and the friends settled down into a hodgepodge breakfast. Sara still seemed nervous and stayed on the far side of the breakfast bar. Grissom stood next to her and occasionally they leaned into one another, allowing their arms to brush together. Catherine watched the interaction carefully. Maybe Grissom hadn't been the cause of her tears.

Greg started to pour Sara a second cup of coffee, but Grissom blocked him with his hand. "Whoa, Greg, she's had enough. Sara needs to get some rest. I don't want to see you in the office tonight. I'll cover your shift for you," he said, turning to give her a serious look.

"Griss, thanks, but you don't have to cover for me."

"Sara, rest. You try coming in and I'll turn you over to Ecklie. Starting next week, days will be losing a second CSI," he said, trying to hide the humor in his voice. Apparently he was too successful, because the pain in her eyes was very real. Her soft "Okay" was nearly silent, but clearly held her embarrassment. Damn.

Catherine looked ready to kill him. Greg was ready to help. Nick had reached over to gently squeeze her hand and was whispering something to her. Damn, he'd done it again.

Without thinking, Grissom gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. "Hey, honey, I was only joking. I'd never abandon you to Ecklie." His voice was tender and he leaned over to kiss the top of her head. Grissom held her until he felt her start to relax.

Sara froze. Grissom hugged her. He called her 'honey'. He kissed her. In public. Well, not really public, but in front of a live audience. An audience which looked like it was in shock.

Nick had turned to Catherine, mouthing 'honey?' with a look of open astonishment on his face. For her part, Catherine shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, at a complete loss for words. She did manage to reach her hand over to close Greg's mouth, which had hung open since the start of the whole show.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I don't mean to hurt you. I promise I'll try to get better at this," Grissom whispered into her ear.

She looked up at him and gave him a shy smile. When it looked like he would lean in to kiss her, she gave her head a slight shake, motioning with her eyes to the crowd across the breakfast bar.

Grissom felt the blush creep up his body as he realized what he had just done. He finally opened up to Sara and he did it with witnesses, who now regarded him as a new type of specimen. Time for some redirection.

"Yeah, Sara, I'd give Ecklie Nick in addition to Catherine before I'd let you go," he said, reluctantly removing his arm from her shoulders.

"What do you mean 'in addition to'? Tell me I'm not going to days," Catherine demanded.

"You're not going to days, Catherine," Grissom replied, waiting for her to relax. "Permanently. Only for a week or two. Think of it as a chance to spend more time with Lindsay."

Relieved he wasn't about to be pawned on day shift, Nick turned to tease Sara. "And here we thought Warrick was his favorite CSI."

"He is, Nick. Sara's my best CSI, though," Grissom's response came back immediately. Sara blushed while Nick grinned.

"Guess we know where we stand," Catherine muttered darkly.

"So if Ecklie wanted Warrick, would you trade all three of us in?" Sara asked, enjoying a joking Grissom.

"Of course not! Then I'd have to take Greg into the field," Grissom said, turning to give the lab tech a wink. He wasn't taking any more chances with his jokes today.

Sara smiled at the joke, but it quickly morphed into a big yawn.

"Guys, I think that's our cue," Catherine said.

"Sara, I'll take care of the dishes. And I'm serious; don't come in tonight."

"Okay, Griss, you win," she said, yawning again. She walked around the breakfast bar to briefly hug her friends and escort them to the door. She was touched by their concern, even if they seemed to think she was incapable of feeding herself.

Sara walked back into the kitchen to see Grissom already starting on the dishes. After watching him for a few minutes, he turned towards her. He raised an eyebrow at the funny smile she had on her face.

"Wanna take a bet what they're talking about right now?"

Blushing yet again, Grissom turned his attention back the dishes.

"What are you going to tell them? About...," Sara asked hesitantly.

"Nothing," he said.

"They know something is ...wrong," she finally said.

"So? A little mystery in their lives will be good for them," Grissom replied.

"Thanks, Griss, for everything," she said.

"Anytime. Look, why don't you get some sleep, I'll finish up here. Do you want me to hang around until Warrick shows up? I don't mind."

"Actually, Griss, I think I need some time alone. I'm beat. And I meant what I said. I don't think I can talk about, well, I," she stammered, finally taking a deep breath. "Sorry. It happened a long time ago, but it's still hard to talk about. I'm not ready for that."

"Sure, Sara. Whenever you're ready. I'll be here," he said gently. Long time ago? Sara was too young for something terrible to have happened long ago.

Breaking the awkward silence, Sara walked to Grissom and leaned to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I wouldn't mind a phone call later," she said.

"Sure. If you want, I can stop by tonight before going in. I'll bring dinner. Or we can go out if you're up to it," Grissom said. "Whatever you want, Sara."

"I think I'd like that Grissom. Thanks. Again. Good night," she gave his cheek another quick kiss before heading towards the bedroom. Stopping at the door, she turned to see him watching her. After a moment, Sara reached into her pocket and pulled out the necklace. Turning it over, she shrugged, then reached around her neck to fasten it. Grissom found himself grinning at the look of joy she held.

Maybe he wasn't as clueless as he thought.

**The End**


End file.
